


The Other Brother

by AlynnaStrong



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-19 22:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12419223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlynnaStrong/pseuds/AlynnaStrong
Summary: Brienne’s father arranges for her to marry a son of Tywin Lannister.  Not the one in the King’s Guard, obviously; the one closer to her in age.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because in my on-going fic, Obstructed View (which is a Jaime/Brienne story), I’ve noticed that every single time Tyrion and Brienne share a scene together, it ends up fluffy as all jim jam. I figure my subconscious is trying to tell me something.

Selwyn Tarth owed a debt of gratitude to Ser Goodwin, his master-at-arms. The man had diligently trained Brienne since her childhood. He’d taught her regular yard sparring, and even prepared her with some hard-won practical lessons on the assumption that her stubbornness could result in her fighting in an actual battle someday. By the time she forcefully broke her third engagement, Ser Goodwin conceded she was as good as any man he’d trained. Having few companions, Brienne had grown to trust him and come to him for advice. Occasionally, she forgot that his first loyalty was to her father.

That Brienne greatly admired Renly Baratheon, Lord Tarth already knew. That she took matters of duty quite seriously, he also knew. But Ser Goodwin had to enlighten him that she intended to pack her arms and armor and head for the mainland as soon as Lord Renly officially called his banners and staked his claim for the crown. “She’ll probably ask your permission, but she might not, my lord. I thought you should have some time to think on it,” he’d said.

Selwyn couldn’t let her go. His only daughter, his heir, to be joining an armed camp. She’d be the only woman there, he thought. Then he corrected himself, no there’d be camp followers, and the men would probably treat her as one. Rape. Death in combat. Death by disease. Maiming. These were the ever-present dangers of war. She was his little girl, his last remaining child. It was too much to ask.

The negotiations were tense and laden with uncertainty. Tarth is a beautiful island and its castle one of the more storied in the kingdoms. The Tarth family can be traced all the way back to the Durrandon conquest, Selwyn reminded Lord Lannister. While the Lannister family was rich in gold and court influence, they were not above the Tarths in the regard of other nobles. The Lannister name still needed some rehabilitation after their questionable conduct in the fall of Aerys Targaryen. Tarths were well-known to be honorable, dependable, and loyal. And Tywin did have a son, well past the proper age for marriage, who could wed his 17-year old daughter.

  


Brienne took the news of a fourth betrothal poorly. “I know the Lannisters are powerful, but he has a vile reputation. They call him the Imp. They say he frequents brothels, and-”

“You'd rather marry his elder brother, the Kingslayer? I could arrange that.” (Selwyn couldn't, but figured the threat would silence his obstinate daughter). “Tyrion is said to be clever and kind. He’s probably the best natured one in that family.”

“I told you I wouldn't marry anyone I could beat in a fight.”

“He could afford to hire an army to fight you, how's that? Besides, you said you'd not ‘accept chastisement,’ and from what I've heard, he's not that sort of a man. He fights with words, not his fists. He has an important position at court. You’ll live with him in King’s Landing; it will be exciting. When Tywin Lannister passes away, he’ll become Lord of Casterly Rock and you’ll be the lady of a great house.”

“I-” Brienne was out of options, and she knew it. Wasn’t it selfish to be resentful anyway? Father was only trying to ensure his legacy, as any lord would.

“He’s visiting here. You’ll meet him. We’ll take it from there.” Selwyn put his hand on Brienne’s shoulder. He hated to force such a profound decision on his daughter. Watching the tears pool in her eyes almost made him want to call off the meeting entirely. She mastered herself, however, showing no fear, just as Ser Goodwin had taught her.

“Yes, Father,” she said.

  


Tyrion had been warned she was ugly. He'd assumed pox scars or a harelip, perhaps even greyscale – certainly some deformity – but no. She was just plain. Plain and huge, admittedly, which was an unfortunate mismatch. He hoped she was fully grown. As it was, his head would barely pass her waist.

She was also awkward and shy when he approached her, another mismatch. She pulled at the neck of her dress then anchored her hands in her lap. Her hair was messy; she’d obviously been running her fingers through it. Apprehensive, and for good reason, he supposed. He’d taken no care to protect his reputation, and Tywin had seemed to care little enough before all this.

Tyrion tried to put her at ease. “Surely, my lady, you see there's nothing to fear here. Let’s get to know one another.”

She stood to curtsy; Tyrion was surprised at how poor it was. No one had said she was mentally deficient, but somehow she hadn’t mastered even such a basic skill. Had she any sort of education at all?

“Pleasure to meet you, my lord,” she said softly, making the briefest of eye contact.

The startling blue of her eyes surprised a smile out of Tyrion. She had some attributes in her favor, at least.

“I am Tyrion Lannister, youngest son of Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. My father suggested this marriage because he feels it is time I settled down, started a family, and began to provide for the future of House Lannister. I assume something similar is happening here?”

“Yes. Father didn’t want me to go away,” she replied. The man did have kind eyes, Brienne had to admit, and he paid attention to her as she spoke. Wagstaff had dismissed everything she had to say until she challenged him to a fight.

“Away?” _If she had wanted to be a septa, this was not going to work out._

Mentioning Renly was probably treason, but Brienne could skirt past the details. “Our master-at-arms has been training me for years. I felt it was time to travel, to test my skills. I wanted to fight. I wanted to be a knight.”

Tyrion found himself in the rare circumstance of being speechless. He regarded her again. Most of her skin was covered, so he couldn’t check for bruises or scars, but enough time around Jaime had taught him some areas to consider. Indeed, her nose had been broken, more than once. There were calluses on the palms of her hands. Mother’s mercy; how had he missed those shoulder muscles? If he wasn’t much mistaken, she was wider than any man here, excepting her father.

“That's ...difficult. I suppose I did as well for a while. My older brother, you know? It’s the nature of a younger brother to want to follow in the elder’s footsteps. His were a little too far apart for me to manage, I’m afraid.”

Brienne almost choked. He was speaking of the Kingslayer! With affection! She’d never heard such talk before. The Stormlords were unanimous in condemning the ultimate betrayal of a member of the King’s Guard. Brienne shook her head. How would she ever fit into this family?

“What would I do at court?” she asked. “Would I have to entertain the queen? Singing and sewing and things like that?” She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry in front of him, but the very thought of it made her cringe. She was useless at all these skills, and the other women there would have perfected them in childhood.

“Can you read?”

“Of course I can read!”

 _Oh, she has a temper and doesn't suffer foolish questions._ Tyrion rather enjoyed seeing that. “Good, then you can help me. My father has me serving as Hand of the King while he oversees the conflict in the Riverlands. It is quite a lot of work, and I am quite a small man.”

Her clear blue eyes held the first glimmerings of trust. “Can I wear what I like? I look awful in most dresses. The fancier, the worse.”

“I plan to be far too drunk to care about what you wear. That’s nothing to do with you, by the way. It’s business as usual.”

“Could I still train with a sword, when I have time?”

“I don't see why not. Perhaps someday you'll win a tourney as a mystery knight and crown me the queen of love and beauty.”

“I would love that!” Her eyes sparkled with wistful joy.

“So would I!” Tyrion laughed. He already felt himself growing fond of this strange, misfit woman. She would probably be his last chance not to marry a proper lady hand-picked by his father. That was reason enough in itself. “So what do you think? Should we go ahead with it?”

Brienne furrowed her brow, confused for a moment – it’s pretty clear she’s not allowed to refuse – then she realized: _He’s offering to let me off the hook. If I say no, he’ll refuse me, out of kindness._

“I am willing, if you are. It sounds exciting.” She’d never left the island before for more than brief sojourns. Living in King’s Landing wasn’t the sort of adventure she’d hoped for, but it would certainly be an experience.

“Good. The way I see it, I’m unusually small; you’re unusually tall. It’s similar in a way. We both make other people uncomfortable and draw unwelcome stares. It’s just that you have less trouble getting things from high shelves, and I don’t have to worry about smacking my head into the archways.”

She smiled gently. “People might laugh to see us together.”

“Oh, they definitely will.”

“I can’t help what I look like, but I’ll never give you cause to be ashamed of me.”

Tyrion made a frustrated groan of self-mockery. “Fine, if that’s the way it has to be, I’ll try my level best to do the same.”

  


None of the Lannister family traveled to Tarth for the wedding. They were well aware of the reception they faced from the Stormlords and made sure to send rich gifts rather than suffer disrespect. Ser Jaime did write Tyrion an affectionate letter wishing him every happiness and promising that he would have attended if the royal family hadn’t insisted his place was with them. Tyrion knew exactly who he meant; it was her habit to be pointlessly petty when he was involved.

Tyrion’s wedding doublet fit him well, even if it was embellished within an inch of its life. The Lannister colors of crimson and gold were always striking, even on his small frame. He was fairly certain Brienne’s dress was the same one she’d worn to meet him, with some jewelry and embroidery added. She didn’t seem to own many dresses, and this one was probably her most flattering. It brought out her extraordinary eyes and camouflaged her lack of bosom. They’d pinned flowers into her short hair and somehow tamed it. She still wasn’t pretty, but, for the moment, she seemed happy.

When she joined Tyrion before the septon, she did the oddest thing. She knelt, acting for all the world like every bride did so. Her nose now a little below Tyrion’s, she looked up and chanced a tentative smile. He smiled back, clasping her hands to say his vows. Exchanging her cloak and providing the kiss to seal their union became much easier than Tyrion had feared. Other than Jaime, he’d never had anyone try to protect his dignity before. It warmed him better than a cup of Arbor gold.

Their wedding feast was full of wine and good cheer. Tyrion could even forgive the Stormlords the pitying looks they sent Brienne’s way. If they’d truly cared, one of them could have offered up a son. Besides, if he knew brash, inconsiderate Stormlords, he’d be more sensitive to her peculiar personality than they ever were. Starting now. His shy bride surely didn’t want to endure a bedding ceremony.

Tyrion waited for a moment when someone was telling a particularly engrossing drunken tale to offer his hand to Brienne. He led them out of the hall and away to their bedchamber before anyone noticed they were gone. If she was hesitant about the first performance of her wifely duties, she didn’t show it. Tyrion allowed her to undress herself down to her small clothes, when he took over, lying her gently onto the bed. Her chest was flat and there was, well, a lot of hair down there, but also a perfectly normal-looking cunt. He had harbored a few cruel doubts that she’d be a man underneath it all and was happy to let those go. He trailed soft kisses up to her mouth and asked if she was ready.

Brienne soon found out that her septa had lied about everything. Either that, or her new husband’s rumored experience has taught him a great deal of tenderness. He had no trouble becoming aroused even with the candles still lit. He stroked between her legs, treating her like the most beautiful woman in the world. When she voiced her encouragement, he’d put the final seal on their marriage pact.

His legs might be short, but his manhood felt just right. There’d been no pain when he entered her, only a few seconds of awkwardness when she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. He laughed then, and kissed her, and started to move within her. His touches in the perfect places excited her and intensified the enjoyment. Far from squeezing her eyes shut and praying for it to be over, Brienne had felt disappointed when he’d spurted inside her, knowing their special time was done. Then, it hadn’t been! He’d used his fingers to pleasure her until his cock was ready for another go. That time, something bizarre happened. Brienne’s mind seemed to fly out of her body and soar in the sky for a while before crashing back down. When she came back to herself, she was gasping for breath and clutching her husband as tightly as she could with both her arms and thighs. He was staring into her eyes with concern.

“Did I hurt you?” they asked simultaneously.

“No, sweet one,” he said. Though he decided they was going to wait until she developed a little more self control before trying it with her on top.

“No, that…that was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she replied, dazed and satisfied.

 


	2. Chapter 2

They were surely the homeliest couple in the history of the seven kingdoms. Tyrion Lannister, with his twisted legs and mismatched eyes, and his giant, mannish wife became fodder for a thousand court jokes. Still, the couple seemed above it all, daily holding hands and strolling through the gardens between Baelor’s Holdfast and the Tower of the Hand. They behaved with modesty and decorum, a vast increase in propriety in Tyrion’s case.

Tyrion did his best to prepare Brienne for meeting his family, but he knew there was really no way to cushion the blow of getting to know the Lannisters. King Joffrey certainly lived down to expectations. He openly mocked them, laughing until spittle sprayed from his mouth. He asked if Tyrion sat on her lap at the dining table and made crude sexual speculations until Cersei silenced him. Cersei amused herself at playing the perfect good-sister. She offered backhanded compliments and grandiose promises for the future. Brienne did manage to wrong-foot her, though. When Cersei remarked that Brienne was roughly the size of the late King Robert and offered to have some of his clothes tailored to fit her, she’d accepted eagerly. Even Jaime had chuckled at how Brienne’s delighted smile had contrasted with Cersei’s gape of shock.

Tyrion had hoped Jaime would make a good impression on his wife. Though her personality was lovely in a lot of ways, she could be judgmental and unforgiving. Surely if she got to know the man behind the label of Kingslayer, she’d appreciate him as his brother did. Jaime found himself uncharacteristically tongue-tied, however. It was her eyes; they seemed to see to the truth of everything, making him feel vain and empty in comparison.

When the newlyweds departed for their rooms, Jaime had to admit he didn’t feel as happy for them as he’d like. In fact, his heart felt full of bile. What was that moronic expression on his brother’s face? Love? Perhaps he loved his ugly wife, but so what? Jaime loved Cersei far more truly, right? He would die for her; he knew that without a doubt. _And she’d move right on_ , his heart whispered.

  


Tyrion discovered that while Brienne didn’t have a knack for debate, she was a useful assistant with his duties as Hand. She could patiently sort through the piles of correspondence received each day, pulling out matters to bring to his attention. She had a good eye for spotting wobbling loyalties or references to the movements of the Stark army.

Tyrion also found it convenient to work nearby his young wife while she was in the throes of her sexual awakening. She didn’t seem the type to get up to mischief with the stable boy, but he liked making himself available. She was the only woman he’d been making himself available to lately. He’d come back from his honeymoon on Tarth to find Shae’s house in the city deserted. He’d kept himself from asking anyone about her whereabouts by sheer force of will. His patience was rewarded when out of nowhere Varys mentioned a lady friend of his whom a great lord paid to relocate while his son was out of town. Tyrion told himself that it didn’t matter; that he only visited to say goodbye. After a while, he almost believed it.

The only issue that kept his home life from being completely content was Brienne’s opinion of his brother. It bothered Tyrion that she still occasionally slipped and called him Kingslayer. Tyrion looked for another opportunity to find a common interest between Jaime and Brienne.

“Have you seen my wife in the training yard?” he asked Jaime after a small council meeting.

“The training yard? No. What does she do there?” Jaime hoped the woman wasn’t flirting with the squires. His brother deserved better than that, and honestly, even teen-aged squires probably weren’t that desperate.

“Fight, of course! She’s impressive. She almost always wins, but admittedly that’s because only the squires will fight her, and them just once or twice each. I think the knights are afraid of everyone seeing a woman make them eat dirt. I told her to wear a helm, but it didn’t work. Everyone knows her stature by now.”

“You’re joking,” Jaime said, but he didn’t seem to be.

“No really. You should spar her a round. It’d set an example for the other knights, and you would actually be able to teach her something.”

Jaime did go later that week to watch. He found it strangely compelling, almost addictive, to watch her fight. All the grace and spirit she didn’t show at formal occasions came out in the yard. She was a force of nature and, in her way, beautiful. He kept promising that the next day, he’d speak up and challenge her, but the day never came. A part of him knew something may blaze out of control if they ever crossed swords, and he would never do anything to hurt his brother.

  


The War of the Five Kings raged across the kingdoms. Renly was assassinated within his own camp. Stannis attacked King’s Landing, and was defeated by Tyrion’s strategy and Highgarden’s forces. Robb Stark married unwisely and lost his life at the Twins. Jaime was taken prisoner and held at Riverrun for nearly a year before Cersei managed to negotiate his release. He returned to the capital just in time for his King Joffrey’s wedding.

Brienne watched in shock as her husband was accused and then arrested for the murder of his nephew. She heard witness after witness come forward to accuse him. Many of their statements were outright falsehoods. Brienne could not hold her temper for long.

Directing her anger at Lord Baelish who had been in the midst of spreading the vilest slander, she said, “Your lies can no longer be tolerated. I challenge you to name a champion, and I will duel you right now!”

Baelish began to say something about passions running high, but Cersei interrupted him, eyes sparkling. “Oh, is it to be a trial by ordeal? With you as Tyrion’s champion? Such pure love and devotion! The crown accepts.”

“No!” Tyrion yelled, but was drowned out by the laughter and applause in the room.

“I do not want-“ he tried, stumbling as the gold cloaks surrounded him to lead him back to his cell.

“I CONFESS,” he screamed. “I killed your vile son! It was me, alone. I confess!” Cersei pretended not to hear him, however, as he was dragged away.

  


Jaime bluffed his way past the guards to visit Tyrion in his cell that evening. Both brothers thought they’d never seen the other look so weak and defeated.

“I tried to talk to her. She wouldn’t change her mind.”

“Which her?” Tyrion asked. “We both love stubborn women.”

“I didn’t bother with yours. Cersei wouldn’t let her withdraw even if she asked. She won’t let her see you either…for her own safety, she says. I just can’t understand why.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“I know that,” Jaime said. If their positions were reversed, Tyrion frankly wouldn’t have been so sure. For a seasoned warrior, his brother could be overly trusting. “I can’t understand why Cersei desires the duel to take place. You gave her a confession; what more does she want?”

“She wants to see my heart break before she kills me. She wants me to die knowing Brienne’s blood is on my hands. As far as she’s concerned, my wife committed a capital crime in loving me. That’s how much she hates me, Jaime. You’ll want to watch your own back as well.”

  


The entire court and much of the merchant class gathered for the trial by combat. Jaime noticed uncomfortably that the atmosphere more resembled a bear baiting than a solemn occasion. As everyone foresaw, Gregor Clegane was standing in place of the crown. Jaime hadn’t bothered to hope that he’d take the match lightly and come unprepared. If anything, the prospect of cutting into a woman made him more vicious.

Jaime had to try one more time to make Cersei see reason. “Hold; this is unchivalrous. A woman can’t be allowed to fight. Let me take her place.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Brother. You’re still weak from confinement. Besides, she volunteered. I want everyone to see what happens when you interfere with the crown’s justice.” Oberyn Martell, Addam Marbrand, and the master-at-arms, Aron Santagar, had tried to take her place as well. Who knew the freak had such friends?

“Just one moment, there’s something I need to tend to,” Jaime said.

Jaime ran down to the courtyard where the combatants were preparing themselves. Brienne had wisely worn light armor to assist in her movement. Even full plate would be unlikely to provide much protection from the Mountain’s blows. She had little enough chance to be sure, but mayhap he could close the odds a bit.

“Good fortune today, my lady.”

“Thank you,” she said not meeting his eyes. She didn’t trust the Kingslayer and could only assume he was mocking her.

He grabbed her arm and got only a perturbed look. “You should use this for the duel.”

Jaime handed Brienne a longsword in a finely-tooled scabbard decorated with ruby-eyed lions. Drawing the blade, she saw the tell-tale rippling in the steel showing its Valyrian nature. It felt lighter in her hand than a sword its size should, but she knew it would be razor sharp and capable of cutting through mail as if it were flesh. Brienne was too shocked to even show her gratitude.

“I’ve seen you in the training yard. You’re good, but your usual strategy won’t work against Gregor Clegane. You tend to fight defensively, allowing your opponents to tire themselves out trying to finish you quickly. Clegane has the stamina of an ox. You’ll make a misstep and get cleaved in twain before you wear him out. You’re going to need to attack. Even this sword can’t cut through his heavy plate, but if you make a breach, it’ll stab through the chain and leather underneath.”

She swallowed. This was no joke. “Why?” she asked.

“I love my brother. And you’ve done nothing to hurt anyone as far as I can tell. Cersei’s in the wrong.” She couldn’t have known how much it hurt him to say that, to see his sister’s cruelty in the harsh light of day.

  


Brienne held the sword with a two-handed grip. To be disarmed was death. To miss a parry was death. To stumble, death. To hesitate, become distracted, fear, tire; all death. She felt like she’d passed through terror and come out the other side. This was what she was supposed to do. Even the crowd of jeering nobles didn’t concern her. There was one man between her husband and freedom; it was a straight-forward enough situation. Sometimes there was a certain lightness of spirit in having one’s path, however difficult, made clear.

The Mountain’s head was covered by his heavy helm, but Brienne could hear his muffled voice. “Hello, little girl.” Suddenly he was Ser Goodwin, taunting her in the training yard. She’d fought this fight before. He’d come at her fast and hard, then cut low to try to make her stumble, then high at her head. And so he did. It was the most obvious strategy imaginable; she almost had to laugh. Yes, he was strong, and quicker than he should be, but he was predictable. It gave her hope.

He even made mistakes! He overbalanced after an attack at her right flank which she dodged completely, and stumbled a step. Her Valyrian blade glanced off his armor as she’d been warned, though. She took a moment while he righted himself to observe the joints of the plates and felt some of her hope fade. There was nowhere uncovered by plate that would give her a clear shot to someplace vital. If she wanted to kill him, she was going to have a cut something loose.

The audience couldn’t stop screaming, already amazed the duel had lasted more than seconds. They didn’t like that she kept dancing out of the way, and Brienne started to wonder if someone might not-so-accidentally trip her. The crowd had begun to press in, making their combat arena smaller and dodging more difficult. A portly merchant in the front ranks paid the price for standing too close at chest height when Brienne ducked one of Gregor’s swings. His greatsword cut through the merchant’s torso, killing him instantly and coating everyone nearby in his blood.

Gregor had to take a moment to shake his eyes clear and steady the grip on his sword, but that moment seemed like minutes to Brienne. Forsaking any chance at wounding him, she instead sliced through every strap she could locate on his armor. Soon his left bracer hung heavy and loose, and his chestplate slumped to the right. It would be enough, if she could find the proper position from which to strike. She’d have to get closer, though and stop dancing.

He swung one-handed, shaking his left arm to rid it of the encumbering bracer. Brienne blocked his blow with her sword, for the first time demonstrating her true strength to him. Even knowing the legendary properties of Valyrian steel, she nonetheless found it amazing that her sword did not shatter from the force of Gregor’s strike. He might have been surprised for a moment, too, because he hesitated before drawing back again.

It was enough. It was enough! To hesitate is death; how many times had Ser Goodwin told her? Brienne slid to his side and found the exposed gap between his left arm and chestplate. Her sword penetrated all the way to hilt, cutting through the underlying armor, not to mention flesh and bone, like they were layers of straw. She only wished she’d gotten his helm off so she could see the expression on his face as he died.

The time afterward was a series of barely connected moments for Brienne. She heard Tyrion’s voice, a mix of ragged cheers and whooping sobs. She picked herself off the ground, where she’d apparently collapsed to her knees. She saw Cersei stock-still and pale with rage while her twin applauded.

The High Septon shook Brienne’s hand, stating that the gods had aided her today without doubt. Oberyn Martell kissed her square on the lips. The master-at-arms promised she’d never lack for sparring partners again. But most importantly, she and Tyrion were allowed to return to their rooms together, all charges proven false.

The next morning, among a surprising amount of other gifts and letters of congratulations, Brienne received a note from the Kingslayer. It said: “You defended my brother when I could not. The sword is yours. It would honor me if you would call it Brother’s Keeper.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

As far as the court at King’s Landing was concerned, Tywin Lannister nigh unto single-handedly navigated the crown to victory in the War of Five Kings. His grandson may sit the throne, but the true power resided with Lord Tywin. Naturally, when the war concluded, he returned to the capital and resumed his duties as Hand of the King. Tyrion took his demotion to Master of Coin with as much grace as he could manage.

Tywin met his son’s wife for the first time and pronounced himself unimpressed. It didn’t help that she had two black eyes and a freshly broken nose at the time. Sparring practice had become much more challenging since the knights joined in. They all wanted to try themselves against the she-lion that conquered the Mountain. She’d really been enjoying herself lately, too much perhaps. “At least she shouldn’t die in childbed,” Tywin eventually conceded.

Prosperity gradually returned to King’s Landing. King Tommen’s marriage to Margaery brought in Highgarden’s largesse. Tensions with Dorne eased, and the North was distracted by infighting. The Faith even forgave the crown’s debt through negotiations with the incoming High Septon. Still, Tywin was not content to rest on his laurels. The future of House Lannister remained insecure.

 

Tyrion didn’t know how he was supposed to prepare for the most awkward conversation of his life. Brienne appreciates forthrightness, he told himself. She’d rather someone say what needed to be said without leaving her to wonder. Still, it was so hard to hurt her.

“Brienne,” he called. She entered the room, smiling at his early return from the exchequer’s office. They were supposed to dine with Lord Rosby tonight, but she hadn’t changed into women’s attire yet. He would cancel anyway; let her be comfortable. “Brienne, my father spoke with me today.”

Her smile faded. Tywin Lannister never had much nice to say about her. She almost preferred Cersei’s policy of pretending she didn’t exist.

“What does Lord Lannister want?” she asked.

“He is concerned that there has been no child.”

Of course he was; Brienne was as well. It had been two years with no lack of trying. “I can understand that. What did he say? Would he have you set me aside?”

“Yes,” Tyrion hissed the word out, feeling real pain. “I asked for more time. He said another three moons.” Tywin couldn’t force him to divorce her, but he could disinherit him. It would be much the same, though. How could he support them with no money or position at court? She would be better off with her father in that case.

“Three moons, then.” Brienne hated to cry. She knew it made her look even uglier. She couldn’t stop it this time, however, as her greatest fear was realized. “I’m a failure as a woman. Look at me. How is that even a surprise?”

“Please, come sit,” Tyrion said, guiding her to their bench.

“Fourteen year old peasant girls are outdoing me. By accident.” She’d be sent back to Tarth, not disgraced exactly, but forever marked. Defective. Barren.

“I’ve given it some thought, and it may not even be your fault.” He winced at the word fault, but it was too late to take back. “You’ve been faithful to me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, before you, I was with many other women, almost all lowborn. They had every incentive to show up on my doorstep with a screaming bundle and none ever did. Not one. Even an excellent field can’t grow a crop if the seeds are bad.”

“I suppose there’s no way to know,” she sighed.

“There’s one way; try some new seeds.”

“Tyrion! You can’t mean-”

“Oberyn Martell has eight daughters and he’s invited us to dinner four times.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I like Oberyn Martell.”

“He likes you, too. Why do you think I keep saying no? I doubt that party ends in the dining room.”

“Oh? Oooh. But, you know, I’m paler than you are. If I bore a black-headed baby no one would believe it was yours, least of all your father.”

That was true. Unfortunately Tyrion only knew one plausible substitute, and that would be the new most awkward conversation of his life.

 

Jaime saw her praying under the statue of the Mother. So it was true. He’d hoped Cersei had been getting creative with her vicious rumors. He gently touched the shoulder of his goodsister to have her nearly bite his head off.

“Get your hands off me, Kingslayer!”

Jaime couldn’t have known that the previous evening Tyrion had tentatively mentioned his handsome older brother, whom he was quite sure could sire children. When Brienne got it through her head that he was serious, she’d refused out of hand. The gods would grant them a child or they wouldn’t, but she’d not break her vows or dishonor her husband.

“I just wanted to tell you I was sorry! This family has treated you shamefully. After you saved Tyrion’s life, for Father to do this. It’s not…right.” Cersei said it was because of Sansa Stark. She’d recently become the subject of marriage rumors with the Tyrells. After the North sorted itself out, whoever had custody of that young woman stood to inherit a prominent title. That the title outweighed loyalty in his father’s eyes didn’t sit well with Jaime, though he should have known it long ago.

“He has the right to set me aside if I’m barren. Casterly Rock needs an heir.”

“Don’t give up. Your eyes are too beautiful not to pass on.” He only meant to encourage her; she sounded so defeated.

“Whatever he told you, I refused. You’d have to take me by force.” She squared her shoulders. The Kingslayer would not have her easily.

 _She couldn’t mean…actually, that’s exactly like something Tyrion would propose._ “Can’t you ever look at me without thinking the worst? I’d never rape a woman. If you refused, then it's settled.”

She’d thought she’d been hiding it better. She made an effort with the Kingslayer for Tyrion’s sake, but the man’s misdeeds were impossible to excuse.

“Good. At least we agree there,” she said, relaxing only slightly in case it was a trick.

“We both love Tyrion. We agree on that as well.”

Her face pinched in pain. “I’ll probably never see him again after my time is up.”

“Perhaps when father dies-”

“He’ll have a new wife by then,” she said, pragmatically crushing that fantasy.

Jaime flailed. “I’m bad at this. Listen, do you want to spar?” It was all he could think to offer her, and it always made him feel better.

“No.” The Kingslayer looked so crestfallen by her flat rejection that she finally felt some pity for him. “I’ve been avoiding strenuous activity, just in case.”

“Oh, good…good luck, then.”

Jaime left the sept behind. He didn’t suppose he’d ever pray again. If the gods wouldn’t answer a prayer from such a pure-hearted woman, they’d certainly never listen to him.

 

“Brienne, I need you to pack your things,” Tyrion said.

Brienne’s shoulders slumped. She’d known it was coming; she’d just hoped somehow Tywin had forgotten her three moons were up. She was bleeding right now anyway, so there was no point even in asking for more time. She blinked away her tears. She wanted to tell Tyrion that she’d miss him, that she’d always love him, but why make things harder than they needed to be?

She set about numbly choosing what she would bring to Tarth. She might as well take all the clothes; they wouldn’t fit anyone else. The jewelry could stay; she’d not use it. The sword…

“Would you return this to your brother for me? It’s an heirloom. It should stay in your family.”

“It will; you’re my family. And no, you’re doing that all wrong. You’ll only need your lightest clothing, but all the jewelry. Think small, valuable, portable.”

“Tarth is warm, but-”

“ _We’re_ not going to Tarth.”

“We…?”

“You don’t mind wearing the armor for most of a day, right? It’ll hide your identity and may come in handy. You can change once we’re in our cabin.”

“Where are we going?” she asked warily. This was starting to feel unreal.

“Volantis. I need you to trust me. The journey may not be comfortable, but at the end we’ll still be together. We’ll buy a villa, plant a vineyard. I think we can be very happy.”

She watched as he pulled a small trunk from underneath their bed and opened it to reveal a wealth of gemstones and fine jewelry.

“That’s not all ours, is it?”

“Let’s just say I’m coming into some of my inheritance early. It’s not a tenth of what I’d be due, but it should sustain us in style for the rest of our lives.”

 

The fresh and exotic culture of Volantis kept them distracted from worldly concerns for a while. Neither of them took to idleness all that well, however. Tyrion floated any number of creative schemes for bringing another man into their bed. When Brienne eventually confronted him, blushing to the tips of her ears, she said, “If you want to find out what sex with a man is like, that is fine. Feel free to leave me out of it and just enjoy yourself.”

“No, you dummy. I’m trying to get you pregnant the only way I’m able. And I’m sorry for calling you a dummy. I didn’t mean it. I only want you to be happy, and it’s so frustrating that I can’t-”

“I don’t need a child to be happy. Actually, I thought you did.”

“No, I’ve never been particularly fond of children.”

“Oh. Well, good. And, I mean, it’s not like we’ll ever stop trying,” she said coyly.

“No, to be sure. Even the ways that don’t usually result in children. Whatever we feel like.”

“That sounds perfect to me.”

 

Their stay in Volantis turned out to be brief. Tyrion’s curiosity and Brienne’s drive to fight for a righteous cause soon brought them to join forces with the Dragon Queen. A new court got to be amused by the incongruous pair and their obvious devotion to one another. Tyrion eventually rose to be the Hand of the Queen, and Brienne became a knight, at last. Through it all, Brienne’s belly stayed flat, and the topic completely faded from their discussion. Daenerys seemed to understand best. She and Brienne grew close and developed a mutually protective bond.

When the invasion force arrived in Westeros, Tyrion counseled an overwhelming attack on the capital. Though the smallfolk were largely spared, the crown army, city guard, and nobility took massive casualties. The golden twins, always blessed and cursed by fortune, cheated death and survived to be taken prisoner.

“Unless you get it into your head to attack Tarth, I’ll never ask you for anything else, Your Grace.” Brienne had never had to beg before. Daenerys treated her friends with such open-handed generosity that a Westerosi almost didn’t know how to process it.

Daenerys smiled at her sweet…Lady Commander, she supposed she’d need to call her now. In her heart, she’d always think of Brienne as her bloodrider and close confidant. The idea of causing any harm to Tarth was so obscene as to be ridiculous.

“You would have me pardon Jaime and Cersei Lannister?”

“Not pardon, Your Grace. Just don’t execute them. They could be useful in exile. Ser Jaime’s talents with a sword are legendary. Commander Snow says every man will be needed at the Wall.”

“The man who killed my father, and the queen who fought me for every inch of the Keep. Don’t I look weak if I let them live?”

“No, you look strong. Confident. Showing mercy to your defeated foes will keep others from fighting to the bitter end out of desperation. Please. My husband gave up everything for me. They’re all the family he has left.” _All that he’ll ever have,_ remained unsaid but understood.

“They asked for men at the Wall, not women. What if I exiled him and executed her?”

“The men of that family are loyal to their wives past the point of reason; trust me in this.”

“She’s not his wife.”

“Pardon me, Your Grace, but she is in every way that matters. He’d choose to die with her rather than leave even with a full pardon.”

“Only for you, Brienne. I’ll send escorts to make sure they arrive safely at the Wall and do no shirk their duty.”

“That is wise. He’ll always be known best as an oath breaker, after all.”

 

Brienne turned out to be wrong about Ser Jaime. His deeds at the Wall eventually carved him a new reputation as winter deepened. Cersei’s keen mind for tactics guided his valor and prevented many mistakes that could have cost the forces of the living dearly. In the end, the singers agreed that the war couldn’t have been won without them.

After the long night had passed, and spring came again, Daenerys announced that the realm no longer needed a king or a queen. Hereditary rule was to be abolished and replaced by a council elected by the people. The specifics took Tyrion the better part of ten years to negotiate, balancing the interests of nobility and smallfolk, natives and immigrants, the North (nearly ruined by the war) and the South (largely untouched). On the shining day when it was accomplished, though, he knew in his heart that the union of a dwarf and a huge, plain woman had changed the world.

 


End file.
